


talking through a violent sleep

by hexburn (thestormapproaches)



Series: Catching Fire, Catching Cold | LEC Hanahaki [2]
Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Angst, Bellflower - Freeform, Comfort/Angst, Established Relationship, Hanahaki Disease, Love Triangles, M/M, Pining, Sad with a Happy Ending, TW: Blood, TW: coughing, TW: hanahaki, Unrequited Love, rip jankos' lungs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 16:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestormapproaches/pseuds/hexburn
Summary: Don't blame Mihael for breaking Marcin's heart. It's not Mihael's fault that he's such a good boyfriend to the one Marcin has hanahaki for; really, it's not. He's an angel, anyway. Marcin could never blame him or Luka for what has happened to him.It isn't their fault Marcin's lungs hurt too much to sleep.
Relationships: Marcin "Jankos" Jankowski/Luka "PerkZ" Perković, Mihael "Mikyx" Mehle/Luka "PerkZ" Perković, implied Rasmus "Caps" Winther/Martin "Wunder" Hansen
Series: Catching Fire, Catching Cold | LEC Hanahaki [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472042
Comments: 15
Kudos: 56





	talking through a violent sleep

**Author's Note:**

> like i said in my last hanahaki fic, this is the last ready-to-post one, the rest (MSF, RGE, VIT, SPY) will take a bit longer to write and publish :)

_ I know your every move, baby girl  _

_ You used to make me nervous _

_ Shuffling the pages _

** _Talking through a violent sleep_ **

“Ohh, nooo, Miky! Ahahaha!” 

“Hey, fuck you! Come back here, where’s my taxi? Taxi! TAXI!”

“No, get away from me, you stupid cat!”

“Meow! Meowmeowmeowmeowmeow meow meow meow!”

“Oh no, Miky, you got caught out  _ again?” _

“MEW!”

Marcin laughs and smiles along with the rest of his team as their bot-lane get up to their usual antics. This time, Luka has slipped neatly out of reach of Mihael’s Yuumi, right-clicking furiously to send his Draven off into the jungle and abandoning the kitten to the wolves in their scrims, not even attempting a rescue as Yuumi dies in an instant. Martin and Rasmus giggle at the antics as Mihael meows angrily and playfully slaps his boyfriend.

Luka.

His boyfriend.

They’re... they’re  _ happy  _ together, Marcin knows it - they’re so extremely happy together, so cheery and joyful and they’re almost always side by side, his superstar bot-lane duo, so deeply in love. Even now as they tease each other, both Luka and Mihael are smiling, broad and genuine. 

It breaks Marcin’s lungs even as it mends his heart.

Luka... he’s so happy. The look on his face radiates like the sun, full of light and goodness and it makes Marcin so happy to see him on top of the world. But he can’t deny that it also rends him.

Because Luka isn’t happy with  _ him. _

And that pulls the flowers forth from his lungs like nothing else.

\---

They’re pretty flowers, a shade of violet with a tinge of pink blended in, small bell-shaped blooms with tiny white stamens surrounded by a splotch of deeper purple - though, because the splotch is at the deepest part of the bell-shape, it’s usually filled with blood and lung tissue. Kind of gross at first, but after a quick rinse, they make a nice bundle to fill a glass cup. He keeps them around in his room, little vases that brighten his world with sparks of colour at the same time that they remind him of the hopeless sickness in his lungs.

His hanahaki isn’t young any more. He doesn’t just spit out small petals and leaves. He’s been throwing up whole flowers for three weeks. It’s aged and hardened and painful, at the point where a single vomiting fit yields a whole vase’s worth of bellflowers; luckily Marcin usually only has one of those awful spells a day, thanks to which his room is almost always equipped with three or four jars of flowers of varying degrees of freshness.

Throw up, rinse, replace old flowers, repeat. The cycle hurts like nothing Marcin has ever experienced before, but regardless he continues in it, saving as many flowers as he can and refusing to throw away anything but the oldest, most wilted blooms. Ordinarily he would only keep one pink-stained jar of flowers, but at some point Luka had poked his head in and mentioned that those flowers grew wild in the meadows of his hometown. After then, Marcin had tried to surround himself with the purple reminders of Luka. They’re a poor replacement for a warm hand, a smile, a kiss on the cheek, but they’re at the very least something that Marcin can clutch to his chest while he stares blankly at the ceiling, Luka’s laughs on repeat in his head and the pain in his chest too unbearable to sleep with.

It hurts with a sharp, stabbing, fierce pain; at first there had only been a slight pang at the upper outer corners of each of his lungs, a sting under his shoulder-plates, but with each passing day the pain had begun to radiate and radiate and radiate until it filled his entire chest. 

Not even pain medication does enough to let Marcin feel whole again, though periodic shoulder massages help. A peculiar curved stick with prongs and bulbs to press into Marcin's back balances in a corner of his room, and despite the teasing he gets for being old, it really does help to soothe his aches - or at least, it did at first. These days, it barely does a thing to quell the pain. He’s lucky to have such nice teammates as he does, for Rasmus is always happy to help him with small, knobbly hands that push just a little too hard. If Rasmus’s efforts don’t help then Rasmus simply charms Martin into trying, but Martin’s hands are too broad and only dull the pain by temporarily adding to it. 

On the few occasions Luka has offered to help, Marcin practically felt healed. On the days after, he’d thrown up double the flowers he usually would, so he doesn’t ask Luka any more; he’s too shy, anyway, and doesn’t want to come between his love and his love’s boyfriend.

Mihael, though, does it perfectly.

Somehow the support knows exactly which lumps of muscle to push into, just how to massage around the blades of Marcin’s shoulders, precisely what patterns to rub into Marcin’s back to soothe the worst of the pain. And Marcin doesn’t even have to ask, or be teased for his pain. Mihael does it all with a smile; he simply walks up behind Marcin to watch his soloQ and make his pain disappear as if by magic. He does it just as well as Luka.

But Mihael cannot remedy the sleepless nights caused by pain like hot knives piercing his back no matter how Marcin tries to prop himself up.

And they hurt the most.

Only after so many sleepless nights, only when his eyes were red and dry and his eyebags were more like handbags in their size did anyone pull him aside and wonder what was wrong.

Surprisingly, the first to do so was Rasmus.

\---

“Hey, Marcin,” Rasmus had asked quietly. They were standing in the hall, Marcin on his way to his computer, Rasmus on his way to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Marcin had said back, assuming nothing more than a casual greeting, but then Rasmus continued.

“Can I talk to you quick?”

Rasmus is innocent and young, and frequently Marcin finds himself giving advice to the little mid-laner, advice about hate and love and old teammates, advice that Rasmus seems to have never heard before and advice for which Marcin might not be the wisest source, but he does his best no matter what, and so he stopped for his young protégé. “Yeah?” Marcin asked, assuming Rasmus wanted help with his crush on Martin, which had progressed to mutual flirting that warmed their teammates’ hearts.

“Are you okay?”

Marcin still doesn’t know how to respond to that question.

“Yeah,” Marcin had said at last, though it was unsure and shaky and Rasmus knew it.

A quiet murmur answered him. “Okay,” said Rasmus, equally unsure. “But if- if it gets worse, will you tell me? I get worried,” he had admitted with a soft, shy laugh, “sometimes you look really sad and you always seem like you’re in pain. I- I have some pain medication if you want it.”

With a smile on his face and a frown in his heart, Marcin had sighed. “That’s okay, Rasmus, it wouldn’t help much anyway. I...”

There was a long pause in their conversation. Eagerly, Rasmus awaited his answer. But an expression carved with exhaustion faced the small mid-laner, and Marcin debated the phrasing until a decent way was found.

“I have hanahaki. For Luka,” Marcin said in the end. “Which is a problem in itself.”

Rasmus stared at him in sad shock.

Then, before Marcin knew it, there were two slim arms wrapped around him and Rasmus patted his back gently; slowly, Marcin reciprocated and sank his head down to rest on Rasmus’s bony shoulder, hugging him lightly. “Do... do you want to cry about it?” Rasmus had offered. “We can go to my room if you want to cry in private...”

“I’m not one to cry,” Marcin replied in a sigh, “not even at this, really.”

“Oh.” 

“But thank you anyway.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rasmus just kept patting Marcin’s back. “Is this good, then?”

“Yes, but you should probably let go soon. I can hear Martin coming down the hall. You don’t want him to think the wrong thing, you know?”

But Rasmus held on, and even invited a confused Martin to join the hug. “He has hanahaki,” Rasmus explained. With a soft sigh of pity, Martin hugged Marcin tightly and kindly rubbed his back.

After Luka passed by, merely raising an eyebrow, the hug broke apart to let Marcin go and cough up more bellflowers on his own in the bathroom.

Marcin warned them later to not speak a word of it to Luka or Mihael.

\---

But that was then, and this is now, and Marcin is only getting worse.

He’s not stupid. He’s seeing a doctor frequently about his hanahaki, and the doctor makes sure to check his breathing and monitor his condition every week. This week, the doctor has said Marcin requires surgery soon. In fact, it’s already scheduled in a week and a half’s time.

Marcin is so depressed around the house that it’s impossible to not notice.

“When is it?” Rasmus asks in a hushed voice at Marcin’s bedroom door, after scrims are over and so are the hours of extra soloQ they all play.

“The Sunday after next Sunday,” he murmurs, and Rasmus hugs him again.

“You’re not going to tell him?”

A sigh flows through Marcin’s body like a gust of wind through a vacant home. “No,” he says, hugging Rasmus back, “it would just make things awkward for Luka and Mihael, and Mihael deserves better than that. I don’t want Luka worrying about what could have been.” Love isn’t a thing to play with, too fragile, too shaky. Luka and Mihael could be so happy, so good together... Marcin can’t tamper with their happiness. It wouldn’t be fair to ruin their reality for his own dreams.

Rasmus hums, still holding Marcin close. “That’s noble,” he mumbles.

“Thank you,” Marcin answers, though the teasing look Luka gives him as he walks by, waggling his eyebrows at Marcin and Rasmus as Rasmus nuzzles Marcin’s chest, makes him feel anything but proud and aloof. He’s painfully aware of how disgustingly human he is right now.

\---

At least everything goes smoothly for a while, until he has to run out of scrims to throw up flowers after Luka and Mihael murmur Xayah-Rakan love quotes on the Rift.

“Marcin?” Luka asks softly as Marcin runs out of the room after a fit of coughs. Marcin can hear Rasmus and Martin both try to follow, but Grabbz sits them back down, muttering for someone to pause the game while Marcin slams the bathroom door shut and retches flower after flower into the sink, clearing out his lungs until he has enough to fill a vase and a half with pretty purple blooms. This is the most his lungs have given up to date.

As quickly as he can, Marcin rinses them clean of blood and pink lung bits and ties them together with an extra stem, setting them aside in neat bundles and rinsing out his mouth. He watches the red-tinted water pour down the drain with a blend of happiness and sadness.  _ It’ll all be over soon. _

And then the door shakes violently with the force of someone pounding on it.

“JANKOS, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR,” Luka bellows, hitting the door so hard it almost seems like it’s being punched.

Marcin immediately turns back to the sink and starts coughing.  _ Oh. Two vases’ worth. _

Thankfully, his lungs appear to be all out of flowers, completely emptied of petals and stems and leaves, and though he continues to cough, he manages to add the cleaned flowers to his bundles and open the door.

“What is going on with you?!” Luka furiously demands, only to be pushed aside as Marcin takes the bundles to his room. “Hey. Hey! Answer me, Marcin!”

With a deep sigh that makes him cough again, Marcin replaces two wilting bunches of bellflower with the new arrangements in his hands, tossing the old flowers into the rubbish bin and leaving his room just as quickly as he entered it.

But Luka blocks his way. “What the fuck are those, where’d you get them from?”

“Scrims, Luka,” Marcin says, sounding utterly exhausted.

The look that Luka gives him lets Marcin know that he is most definitely not in the clear just yet, but Luka steps aside and they walk back to their computers, where Marcin is met with quietly-whispered words from Rasmus wondering if he’s okay.

The only answer Rasmus gets is a sad smile.

The remainder of that match goes well, or at least, as well as it can when Luka keeps glancing at Marcin out of the corner of his eye and Marcin pointedly avoids conversation with Luka that isn’t explicitly about the game-state. Even Rasmus and Martin, though happy to chatter with each other, tread on eggshells around Marcin. Mihael simply continues as normal, though he sounds confused rather frequently, and the game is won in a smash - only 15 minutes long, thanks to a miracle in which all of Rasmus and Martin’s risky plays turn out perfectly.

_ Too short, _ thinks Marcin, hoping that Grabbz will chide them for their aggression and prevent the conversation Luka is itching to have with him. But Grabbz just says, “Good scrim, guys, do that on-stage and the fans will go wild.”

_ Oh, fuck you, Graöäaaäabbz. _

As soon as Luka stands up, Marcin runs to the bathroom again. Perhaps today will exceed his wildest dreams in terms of how many pretty flowers could grow in the tender meat of his lungs. He locks the door as per routine, leaning over the sink as per routine, heaving up a cluster of blooms even younger than most of the florets. They must not have had enough time to fully grow, because the buds aren’t even fully opened, and most are grotesquely swollen with blood. Marcin puts this bunch in a spare rubbish bag and mentally prepares to throw it out, though simply tossing the fruits of his painful blood and tears away always creates an ache in his heart, and he opens the door expecting a clear and easy path despite the obvious troubles he’s been having.

He nearly has a heart attack when he sees Luka standing right in front of him.

“Tell me, Marcin.”

“Tell you what, Luka,” Marcin murmurs, much too tired for this shit. He trudges out to the main rubbish bin of the house, in the kitchen, and curses under his breath as Luka follows.

“What’s in the bag?”

“None of your business.”

“Is that blood?”

“I’m not a vampire.”

“So then what, are you on your fucking period?” Luka practically hisses.

“What. No. I have a dick, Luka. Obviously.”

“Well with how things have been going lately, I’m not sure I know anything about you anymore!” It takes everything in Marcin to hold back -  _ for their sake, _ he reminds himself as he settles into his chair and tries to start a soloQ game. “You barely talk to Mihael,” Luka says, refusing to let it go, “you avoid me like I’m the plague, suddenly Rasmus talks about you like you’re gonna die at any moment and Martin and Rasmus both know exactly what’s going on.” Marcin just shrugs. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Looks like someone put on their entitled ‘I’m Luka Perkovič and I get whatever I want’ pants today.”

It’s a low blow, especially for Luka who tries so hard to be understanding and not so demanding as he matures, low enough that Luka stands stunned for a few seconds. Marcin uses that time to leave Luka and go to his room. It’s not late, but he doesn’t care, he’s tired anyway. With a slow, long exhale, letting out as much tension as he can - or at least as much tension in his body that isn’t concentrated in his lungs - Marcin relaxes into the sheets, so tired of the constant pain that he’s almost asleep already.

“Well, you’re not Luka.”

_ Shit. _

He’s in the wrong room.

“Sorry,” Marcin mumbles to Mihael, “sorry, I should have noticed something was off, sorry.” As quickly as he can without the world going black - blood loss is starting to get to him, maybe he should drink even more water - he sits up and swings his legs back off the bed. “Sorry.” Last parting words.

But suddenly Mihael’s arms are around him and Mihael’s chin is in the crook of his neck and Mihael’s chest is pressed against his back, and Marcin sighs softly in the warmth as it alleviates the pain of his lungs and dulls it down to a sharpness under his shoulder-blades. Despite himself, he leans into it. Oddly, Mihael sighs, too, as if pleased with Marcin’s comfort by him.

“Does your back hurt?” Mihael asks quietly, skilful fingers already massaging the knots in Marcin’s muscle.

Marcin chuckles humourlessly. “It always hurts, these days.”

“You’re getting old,” teases Mihael, pushing at a cord of muscle that hurts so badly, Marcin cries out and arches away. “Oh- sorry.”

Softly, Marcin curses. “It’s fine,” he hisses, “just a sore spot.”

“I mean, I’m sorry for more than just that,” Mihael murmurs. “I should have told Luka not to bother you.”

“ ‘s not your fault. He’s responsible, too.”

“Yeah,” sighs Mihael, “but I know that you’re more hurt than he thinks.” 

The silence rolls through the room as rain begins to fall outside, bringing an alpine cleanness to the city and to the blooms in Marcin’s lungs. He wonders about the jars in his room and if the cool rain makes them feel more at home. At long last, Marcin’s back is as pain-free as it gets nowadays - he’ll just take a few paracetamol before he goes to sleep so that he can actually stay asleep.

“Marcin?” Mihael murmurs, closer to Marcin’s ear than expected. With a jolt, Marcin sits upright. He must have dozed off. Quietly, a mumble answers Mihael’s query, and Mihael giggles softly. “Sorry. You can sleep here if you’re tired... you seem tired lately.”

Marcin is so drowsy, he just relaxes into Mihael’s arms. 

“Still awake?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I... can I ask something?” 

A nod in response. 

“I know you won’t tell Luka, but... will you tell me?”

Deeply, Marcin sighs.

“No. There’s a reason I can’t tell you or Luka,” he says, avoiding looking at Mihael’s crestfallen expression.

“Oh. Can you tell me something about it? You don’t have to, I just... I’m worried about you, Marcin.”

“Well,” begins Marcin, “the reason I can’t tell you is because it’s about you and Luka, and it would make you sad, and I don’t want to make you sad, so I can’t tell you.” He hopes that will be enough because there’s not much else he can give Mihael.

But again, Mihael hugs him. “That’s okay. Thank you anyway. I’m sorry for pushing you.”

“That’s okay,” Marcin mumbles. Something about Mihael’s hugs seems to make the pain in his left lung simply melt away, and he’s so, so tired of dealing with the ache and sting that its absence fills him with relief.

He falls asleep almost immediately.

\---

Sometime in the night, he gets moved into the middle of the bed, and as warmth surrounds him on both sides, even the pain on his right seeps away.

\---

Too early in the morning, he wakes up. At first, Marcin isn’t sure why he’s awake - he’s comfortable and warm and not terribly hungry or thirsty, either - but then, he takes a breath, and he barely manages to take in any air around the flowers stuffing his throat. As he starts to cough, he tears himself free from the arms around his waist and clambers off the bed as quickly as he can. He can hear sleepy murmurs of protest behind him, but Marcin staggers out of the door before anyone can stop him, and he hurries to the bathroom.

Flower after flower falls from his lips. Second after second, cough after cough, then minute after minute he retches. Soon the basin is filled with plant matter from small stems to torn blooms and full bellflowers on slim, strong supports, and still Marcin’s throat is not cleared.

He feels something warm and liquid hit the back of his throat, and he clears out a gap above the sink’s drain just in time for a surge of blood to pour from his mouth.

With a sigh, he stares down at the disgusting mess he’s made. Blood coats nearly all the usually pretty purple blooms, and Marcin can’t even imagine what to do with all these flowers in the sink in front of him. Maybe they’re edible, and he could make flower preserves with some added sugar for sweetness.

Maybe he should just throw them out. Upon closer inspection, almost all the typically-pretty bellflowers are oddly stunted, grotesquely misshapen and bowed, and they’re crushed into disgusting green-purple mash that has blood already worked in, inseparable from the blooms. Marcin sighs. This time, he can’t even make anything nice come from his pain. He’s just reached into a cabinet for a trash bag and begun to clean up the vile mess when a voice echoes from the doorway - the doorway, he realises too late, that he forgot to lock.

“You have hanahaki.”

Luka’s voice and Mihael standing there with him make Marcin keel over the sink again and gag on more purple petals exploding in his lungs. When Luka comes nearer, trying to offer comfort and a pat on the back, Marcin shoves him away.

Marcin’s coughing fit ends a few minutes later, when not even blood is left to come out. Chest heaving, Marcin straightens up and sighs tiredly. He washes out his mouth and surveys the damage with an irked expression on his face - he’ll have to go get disinfectant wipes from the kitchen to clean up the splatters of blood in the sink, and that’s really such a bother. After another deep sigh, Marcin pushes past Luka and Mihael at the door to fetch wipes.

They try to stop him, but shy away from his bloodstained hands. He grumbles mentally when they follow him to the kitchen, but he can’t deny that their cleanness is helpful as they fish out the disinfectant wipes and hand them to him, easing the process of clean-up greatly and not leaving any odd red handprints around the house. The blood on the sink is wiped away, leaving no trace of the early morning’s events but a slight metallic tang under the artificial scent of lemons.

“Who-”

“Stop.”

Luka looks at Marcin bewildered, but Marcin has had enough. He’s only human. He can’t keep trying to hold himself back, trying to endure the pain with the hope that they’ll be happier, not when the pain is so severe. His lungs are aching, screaming for him to confess.

He denies himself again.

But “No,” Luka says firmly, “no, you don’t get to struggle this much and not tell me what’s wrong, you need to tell us who it’s for.” There is almost an element of anger to his voice.

Marcin sees more red than the blood previously in the sink.

“Oh, so you can just barge the fuck in and tell me to do it and I’m supposed to do it? I’m not your fucking dog,  _ Perkz, _ what I choose to tell you isn’t your fucking choice!” Marcin hisses, practically snarling Luka’s tag and refusing to even call him by name. “Since when did you even care?! Since when did you even fucking notice anything about the people around you?!  ** _Don’t make me laugh.”_ ** Furious, Marcin stomps past Luka and Mihael, completely ignoring how Luka tries to stand in his way and shoving him harshly to the side, so hard that Luka’s back slams into the wall behind him and Luka coughs with the impact.

In the scant time that he has before Luka recovers, Marcin runs into his room and locks it behind him. 

“Marcin!” Luka screams, pounding on his door regardless, “Marcin, open the fucking door!” Shushing noises ensue, all from Mihael desperately trying to calm his boyfriend before they wake the house up. Marcin really hopes he succeeds because disturbing everyone’s sleep is a sure way to have awful scrims the next day, especially if poor Rasmus is forced awake before he’s ready.

On the other side of the thin, thin wall, Mihael seems to win out, as Luka sighs frustratedly and his footsteps lead away. But only one set disappear, unless Mihael and Luka happen to walk perfectly in sync.

A quiet knock lets him know what happened to Mihael.

“Marcin?” asks that patient, kind, angelic voice, “I know you’re probably tired, but... could you come to the door? You don’t have to open it, I just... wanted to ask something.”

Marcin wants nothing more than to stay flopped on his bed, but it’s Mihael, and really he’s never been able to say no to Mihael, such a good boyfriend to the one Marcin has hanahaki for. Silently, he stands at the door, then knocks lightly to tell Mihael that he’s there.

“You said you couldn’t tell me your secret because it was about me and Luka,” Mihael murmurs, “so- so you have hanahaki for us?”

A few seconds of silence pass by. Marcin isn’t sure how to answer.

“You can just knock again if you want to say no,” says Mihael softly.

This time, the silence answers for Marcin.

“Oh, both of us?”

The knock comes through, and Mihael’s response to it is much sadder than his words before.

“O-oh. Just for Luka, then, right?”

Marcin sniffles, and Mihael sighs.

“Okay. Thank you... for telling me about this. I know you didn’t want to. Goodnight.” Mihael sounds somewhat devastated. He sniffles once as he leaves, and Marcin can’t think of anything other than how utterly awful he is as a human being, that he makes everyone so sad.

At the very least, the flowers in Marcin’s room seem to be happy in the cool, moist, rainy air as a northern downpour sends its love from outside the open window.

Marcin goes back to his bed with tears in his eyes, though he swears it’s only because of the coughing fit he has as soon as he’s completely alone again.

\---

The next day isn’t much easier.

Rasmus looks like he barely got any rest, Martin is fidgety and awkward, Mihael clings to Luka’s side and constantly whispers to him quietly, Marcin himself didn’t sleep at all, his lungs hurt so much, and worst of all, the whites of Luka’s eyes are red, as though he cried all night. Really, Marcin wasn’t expecting much, but he didn’t think the reception to his hanahaki would be that bad. When Luka looks at him pointedly, Marcin turns away, dodging his eyes, and their game of gazes extends through almost the entire day, with Marcin always ending up the loser - every time their eyes meet, Marcin has to rush to the bathroom to retch up more bellflowers. 

They come out one by one, slowly, not in thick, quick clumps like before. Marcin almost thinks this is worse, as each comes out with blood, and they interrupt so much of his day, now. His night is shaping up to be just as bad, caught in short snippets of sleep between coughing up more blooms, and then - a knock on his door.

Dread builds in his chest, dread of who he knows is surely on the other side, and still Marcin sighs and coughs and opens himself up to Luka and Mihael.

“What.”

“C-can we come in?” Luka asks, his hand nervously playing with Mihael’s fingers.

It fucking hurts, but Marcin steps aside and lets them in.

Awkwardly, they stand to the side, but he, too fed-up with everything, cares naught for whatever social pretences still exist when having two boyfriends who are surely going to break his heart in his room, and he flops onto the bed, barely mustering enough strength to sit up with his back leaning on the wall. “So?” Marcin asks, “what do you want?”

Shyly, they sit on the edge of his bed, and Luka begins to speak. “Mihael told me, about... the hanahaki. Um-”

“It’s fine,” Marcin says firmly, as solid as a house of cards, “it’s fine, don’t even worry about it.” He keeps his eyes fixed on a dark, shadowy corner of the room. “I’m getting it removed this Sunday. It-”

“NO!”

Suddenly Luka’s hands are on his, clenching tight as Luka faces him with panic in his eyes.

“No, no,  _ please, _ please don’t get the surgery.”  _ What? _ “Please, I- I love you, please-”

“Don’t,” Marcin says in a soft whuff of breath, shaking his head sadly, “just don’t. Don’t do that to Mihael. He’s right fucking there, Luka.” 

“But-”

“Just stop.”

And then, like a crack of thunder, Mihael’s voice resounds in the silent room. 

“I like you, too, Marcin.”

_ It can’t be true. _

“We... we would be more than happy to have you with us. Both Luka and I have thought about it,” Mihael says steadily, “and we’ve talked about it, and we both want you.”

“But you two are happy together,” Marcin protests though it hurts his heart, “you don’t need me, I’ll just mess something up...”

“We still want you, Marcin!” The look in Luka’s eyes is almost bewildered, crazed with the need to make Marcin understand. “We do. Even if all of us mess it up, we still want you!”

With a sigh and a hand rubbing his tired, tired face, Marcin loosens his shoulders and his restraint. There’s too little left in his chest for Marcin to argue.

“...okay.”

Immediately, Luka surges forward to hug Marcin’s neck, clinging to him, whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you,” into Marcin’s ear as Mihael crawls over the bed to get nearer. Gently, Mihael strokes Marcin’s cheek and leans on his chest. He rests his head on Marcin’s shoulder like a sleepy cat and kisses Marcin’s jaw lightly, and their touches warm Marcin’s heart all the way through until he’s smiling softly.

And then Marcin’s throat swells around something, and he hacks desperately to get it out. 

Thankfully, with Luka and Mihael patting his back, the wretchedly large hanahaki pearl tears itself free and falls into the bowl in his lap with a clunk. Marcin had long since learned to keep some sort of vessel on hand at his bedside table to contain the blood that sometimes spews forth. Silently, Mihael hands him tissues to wipe it clean while Luka plasters himself against Marcin’s side, hugging him tightly, and with Luka’s touch and the pearl finally out of his lungs, the pain melts away from right to left like snow turning to water, draining away and leaving only peace. 

The release of the baggage his nervous system had been holding onto brings a flood of relief. His eyes shut, his body soothed by the warmth around him, a soft smile on his face, he practically passes out into a deep, healing sleep before he can even put the pearl and bowl aside.

\---

And then he wakes up, and it feels like his left lung is trying to rip itself out of his body.

The pain is so sharp and piercing that it almost feels as though a lance is stabbed into his back, pinning him down, keeping him down, boring through his ribcage and lungs, and Marcin- he- he can’t-

**He can’t breathe.**

He can’t, he just can’t, it hurts too much, he only gets a short gasp of air before his lungs refuse to move any further, and he’s stuck, he’s caught, he’s panicking, he’s-

“Marcin? Marcin!” Luka cries in alarm from where he lies perched on Marcin’s twitching chest freshly awoken by Marcin’s desperation.

Silently Marcin shakes his head. Talking will only waste breath.

“Mihael!” Luka nearly screams, shaking Mihael until he’s awake, bleary-eyed but quick to come to attention at seeing Marcin’s predicament.

“Shh,” he croons gently, “just stay calm, okay? You can breathe, it’s okay.” Carefully, Mihael talks him through breathing and tries to massage the pain away, only succeeding in dulling it out for a precious few moments, and Marcin practically heaves for breath before throwing all that progress away with a shower of bellflowers into the bowl.

“B-but- but- I thought the pearl was out, we have it- it’s right here,” Luka murmurs in a distressed shock, cradling the comparatively enormous hanahaki pearl in his hands, “I- I don’t-”

“Shh, shh,” Mihael soothes. It’s not exactly working on Marcin, who is just as confused as Luka and whose life is in immediate danger if he can’t catch his breath. “Marcin.” Mihael’s voice has an element of powerful demand to it, so rare for the support that Marcin can’t help but take heed, and his eyes snap to Mihael’s. “Breathe with your stomach, okay? Keep your chest still, just breathe by sticking your stomach out and in, there you go. I know you can do this. The worst thing you can do is start worrying, because it’s useless. You will be perfectly fine,” Mihael says so firmly that Marcin can’t help but listen. “No matter what happens, Luka loves you. I love you. You’re gonna make it.”

Ironically, as soon as the words are out of Mihael’s mouth, something painfully big explodes out of his throat and for Marcin, the world goes black.

\---

He doesn’t know much of anything. It’s too dark. He’s not sure where he is. There’s no light, wherever this place is, and there’s no sound, either. He tries to speak, but it feels like his vocal cords are bound by friction and will not come unglued. As such, he cannot respond when two beautiful voices waft through the void.

“Marcin? Marcin, honey. Marcin, my love, wake up,  _ moje ljubimec.” _

_ “Ljubavi, moj ljubavi,” _ croons the other, “I miss you,  _ moje ciern, _ come back to us.”

A sudden warmth radiates through the darkness, and Marcin can feel the world lighten in colour, from shadow to early-morning grey to dawn. He wakes up with a deep sigh and a habitual cough to clear his throat of petals.

None come up.

Confused, Marcin hacks a little harder, wondering where the scourge of his lungs has gone as he slept, but someone’s warm hand on his itchy chest stops him, and soft lips against both of his cheeks usurp his attention, forcing his eyes to open. “L-Luka? Mihael?”

The kisses to his right intensify as Mihael draws back, and with more freedom to move Marcin, Luka pulls him into a fierce, lion-hearted kiss. “Damn,” he says as they finally let each other go, “only one day without you and I already missed you so much...” He kisses Marcin again, not even wincing at the taste of stale blood and gross morning breath, and Marcin gasps softly into Luka’s lips.

“Give him a moment to breathe, love,” Mihael warns, “and help sit him up, please?” Obediently, Marcin props himself up against the wall and kisses Luka chastely as thanks for putting a pillow behind his back. “Here, drink this,” Mihael says, handing Marcin a mug full of warm, honeyed herbal tea. Marcin gratefully accepts it and drinks quickly. He’s so thirsty.  _ What happened? _

“I missed you so much. Yesterday wasn’t the same without you,” Luka murmurs from where he’s plastered against Marcin’s side, clutching Marcin’s waist as though if he lets go he might lose Marcin forever.

Questioningly, Marcin looks over to Mihael, who refills his tea and gestures for Marcin to drink more. “You blacked out after you spit out the second pearl,” Mihael explains as Marcin sips his tea, “and you slept all day yesterday, too. Luckily, Schalke cancelled scrims anyway, so we didn’t do much without you.”

“Two pearls?” Marcin croaks confusedly.

Mihael and Luka smile at each other. “You had two bellflower pearls,” Luka says happily, “one for me and one for Mihael.”

Marcin’s jaw practically drops.

“So really you didn’t need to worry at all,” says Mihael with a soft kiss to Marcin’s cheek, “especially not since it’s bellflower.”

“What?”

“Bellflower, Marcin,” Mihael murmurs with another kiss, “My mom grew them in our garden. They mean affection, delicacy, and everlasting love. Didn’t you ever check the meanings of your flowers?”

Marcin just shrugs and blushes, embarrassed that he agonised over a love that would have turned out okay in the end anyway, but Luka and Mihael chuckle and kiss him, so he doesn’t mind this ending at all.

\---

A week later, when Marcin’s lungs have fully recovered from the damage done, the three of them go jewellery-shopping together. They come back with pretty silver necklaces and two delicate pearl pendants, and a beautifully-chiselled gemstone hanging from Marcin’s neck. And so far, the polyamory life is good, even great. Mihael and Luka kiss him silly each morning and leave plenty of marks on him and each other at night, and even though it’s cheesy and sappy and borderline disgustingly romantic, Marcin can’t help but think that, as he looks into the mirror with bruises and a small diamond decorating his collarbones, his boyfriends on the bed behind him, everlasting love has never looked so good.

**Author's Note:**

> were you surprised by the second hanahaki pearl?  
i've never really written fic that has suspense like this, so let me know what you thought!


End file.
